


And when we come back we'll be dressed in black/And you'll scream our names aloud

by The_Evil_Twin



Series: Grimm Troupe!Ghost [1]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Grimm Troupe, Don't copy to another site, Found Family, Gen, Grimm Troupe!Ghost, No beta we die like mne
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-01-22 23:58:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18538105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Evil_Twin/pseuds/The_Evil_Twin
Summary: The Pale King succeeds in his efforts to destroy the Radiance. This has cascading effects on the rest of the Hollow Knight universe, but especially for one particular Vessel and a traveling circus troupe.The title is from Florence + the Machine's song "Spectrum."AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm back at school! Writing will now resume, assuming that my time management stays on track.CURRENT STATUS: Chapter 9 in progress (11/9/2019)





	1. Prologue. No need to pray, no need to speak

**Author's Note:**

> Have you _seen_ all that sad infection stuff lately? Here we have something else. It's not necessarily fluff, but it's certainly not solely angst either. Is it hurt/comfort? I just don't know.
> 
> Anyway, all of you wonderful Hollow Knight fans and the works you created have inspired me to get into fanfiction again. You can see my old stuff at "4 is for Clover" on ff.net if you would like. This story is loosely outlined but I'm not making any promises. With that being said, I hope that you enjoy!
> 
> The story's title is from the song "Spectrum" by Florence + the Machine. The prologue title comes from "Never Let Me Go" by Florence + the Machine.

The Vessel was, as all Vessels that had come before it, voiceless. No mind to think, no will to break, and no voice to cry suffering the Pale King had proclaimed, and so it was. All had gotten what they wished for in the matter, the Pale King said. He and the White Lady had the Hollow Knight, the perfect child that they had wished for - an unexpected joy, the King said, a Vessel that had shown signs of the Awareness that its siblings lacked - the residents of Deepnest had their Princess Hornet, the half-Vessel child that had been granted to Herrah the Beast in return for renewed trade with the Distant Village, and the elite of Hallownest had an unfeeling, readily available workforce to do with as they deemed fit; a labor force that would never demand more pay or better conditions, and one that would never leave for a better position. Provide the Vessel with a place to rest and a small amount of Soul if it got cracked and it would do whatever job a bug wished until it wore out.

The small Vessel knew little of the reasoning behind its situation. They could not talk to their siblings about their job tending the Queen's Gardens. They could not cry when they cut their hand on a thorn. They could not ask for a break when they were tired. They could not respond when their overseers scolded them for another's mistake.

And why would anyone think to tell a Vessel the rationale behind its station? The Vessels could not think nor feel, after all. They were mere automatons created to complete the most menial of tasks. It was Vessels that were responsible for maintaining the cleanliness of the White Palace and the Queen's Retreat. It was Vessels that were responsible for patching leaks in the Royal Waterways. And it was Vessels that were responsible for wrangling the rougher parts of the Queen's Gardens. Rather, it was the particular responsibility of one Vessel.

It had not been the Vessel's job at first; the Queen's Gardens were thought much too important to be tended by a mindless drone or even the lower class, but as assistant after assistant from Hallownest's high society quit the job complaining about thorns and dirt and, on one memorable occasion, the scent of the flowers being too overpowering for one with such a delicate constitution, one of the royal gardeners spotted a small black and white figure out of the corner of their eye. The Vessel, a typical example of its kind with two curved, pronged horns - actually quite similar in appearance to the young prince if one cared to look - had been picking up the grass clippings that the gardeners left behind. It was a simple task, if made somewhat comical by the tiny bunches that the Vessel's small hands restrained it to, suitable for such a simple creature, but it was the blank mask-like face that caught the gardener's attention. This was a being that would not, could not, complain about the work, and who would care if a Vessel got a bit scraped or scratched while performing its duties? A little Soul and it would be as good as new.

Training the Vessel took a little longer than the gardener would have liked but, soon enough, the Vessel was crawling through thickets with a small, dull nail retrieved from the training yard and hacking at thorns and weeds with absent-minded focus. There were mistakes, of course. A few times the Vessel had attempted to hand the gardener a flower - at one point a rather rare one! - instead of the usual weeds, but that had been knocked out of its empty head quickly enough. Now it simply did its job with the due diligence that the Vessels did everything else. It would be a pain to train a new one when this one wore out, but maybe by then, a high society bug with a real passion for gardening would have appeared.


	2. Chapter 1. All the feeling was all or nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sick of the words creature, critter, bug, small, and tiny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am yeeting this chapter out into the world. It's 1,500 words of the Vessel and the Grimmchild being cute. Plot stuff starts next chapter. Let's goooooooo!!!
> 
> (Please let me know if you find any typos; I have no beta.)
> 
> The chapter title is from the song "Moderation" by Florence + the Machine.

This was not what the Vessel had been expecting when they followed the sound of squeaking into the glade. They had expected a flock of maskflies, or perhaps some other creature that had gotten turned on its back not... whatever this was. How the little creature had managed to get itself so entangled the Vessel wasn't sure, but at this point it looked like a particularly thorny mosscreep rather than a... whatever it was.

Another careful cut with their dull nail and another vine came free into the Vessel's grip. Their hands were covered in tiny scratches. No thorn had cut deep enough to cause them to start bleeding Void, but if they didn't free the critter soon then it was only a matter of time. As if to illustrate that point the bundle of thorns gave a great heave restrained only by some particularly stubborn vines. If that had hit them, the Vessel would be picking thorns out of their sockets for the next week. To say _that_ task was unpleasant would be an understatement.

The Vessel wished they could tell the trapped creature that they were trying to help. Once again their lack of a voice made their life more difficult than it needed to be. Then again, speaking to the critter would mean nothing if it wasn't intelligent. Regardless, the lack of opportunity galled even the Vessel who was already resigned to their circumstances.

One more cut and the Vessel could see a bit of gray, wiggling carapace. Finally, _finally_ the creature stilled as the Vessel carefully positioned their nail between the vines and the creature they held captive. Three slashes later (all away from the critter, of course) and the last of the vines fell away and the creature - a remarkably tiny bug, after all - burst out in a flurry of thrashing wings before diving into the brush and disappearing. The Vessel gazed blankly after it and turned back to their work.

Hopefully the bug wouldn't get stuck again.

* * *

It came back.

The little black and gray bug flew in dizzying circles around the Vessel's antlered head, squeaking all the while. It seemed no worse for wear from its accident, flapping and cheeping and somehow zipping through the air on its tiny tendrils. Apparently, an afternoon trapped in thorns was no deterrent for such a mighty bug. The Vessel was glad for it, really they were, but they would appreciate it if the little thing quit bothering them long enough for them to do their job!

The Vessel waved their nail in the air again. Maybe the bug would be deterred this time? But no, it just kept circling and circling and circling!

Until it didn't.

...They had a bug on their head. This was an unprecedented situation. The Vessel raised a hesitant hand and patted the creature lounging between their antlers. It squeaked.

At least they could do their job now.

* * *

 

_Splash!_

By now the Vessel was used to being greeted with a dive bomb to their mask but occasionally accidents happen. Accidents such as the Vessel not being properly braced and both them and their passenger falling into one of the many small ponds that dotted the Gardens.

 _This is all your fault,_ the Vessel tried to tell their visitor through their gaze alone - a herculean task for one who had no face and no expression.

The tiny bug sneezed a spark and almost lit the nearest vine on fire.

* * *

The Vessel had desperately needed to get some work done and, in the hopes of distracting their frequent guest, had bundled a mass of vines into a ball.

This was a mistake.

The tiny bug had been delighted by their new toy and had spent a wonderfully quiet four minutes wrestling, chewing, and roughhousing with it before they realized that the Vessel was not joining them in their game. At first the winged creature had been confused; the strange bug had provided the toy, so why weren't they playing? Unless... they had never played with another bug before! They had surrendered their toy so that the little bug could have fun at the cost of their own entertainment! This would not stand! Determined to show that the Vessel was welcome to join them in their game, the tiny creature redoubled its distracting behavior.

All of this was a rather long-winded explanation as to why the Vessel kept having a ball dropped on their head, their back, and, at one point, spit into the socket of their mask.

Once again, the ball landed between the Vessel's antlers where it balanced for a moment before rolling into their lap with an anticlimactic plop. "Weh," went the tiny bug. Oh no! How would they get the ball back from the strange bug now? They couldn't teach them to play without it!

The Vessel eyed the ball in their lap. Some of the vines were starting to fray and it was dented and slightly damp where their visitor had been chewing on it. Nevertheless, it had lasted longer than the Vessel had expected it to when they made it; they hadn't really known what they were doing, merely copying the shape of an item they had seen many young bugs with. Falteringly, they placed their nail in the soft grass and lifted the ball with cupped hands. The small bug squeaked in excitement and flew in a tight circle, tiny chest puffed up with pride. Yes! That was a good start! The odd black and white bug would be playing in no time!

...The gardeners wouldn't notice a few more thorns anyway.

* * *

It was a rare day when the Vessel had a different job, but it happened sometimes.

"There will be a gala in the Prince's honor tonight," the gardener told the Vessel sternly. "Knight Ze'mer has graciously allowed us to harvest some of her special flowers. You know the ones."

The Vessel did, in fact, know the ones as they had been instructed to stay far, far away from them on their first day in the gardens.

"Those flowers require particularly delicate care, so I won't have time to supervise you today." As if the gardeners ever gave the Vessel a glance beyond ensuring that they were cutting weeds rather than flowers.

"You," the gardener pointed one of her four hands at the Vessel, "will sort these. Get rid of the imperfect ones. We can only have the best for tonight." A huge bundle of white flowers was dumped into the Vessel's arms, nearly blocking their line of sight. With a final huff the gardener stalked off, probably to yell at some of the more reckless staff. Arms full to bursting, the Vessel toddled off to a quiet section of the Gardens that had not been marked off for the party.

Given that they were in a completed different area of the Gardens than usual, the Vessel had not expected to see their small friend - _friend, was that the word?_ \- that day, but given that they still had no idea how the little thing was getting in unnoticed they should have known better.

"Mweh!"

With its traditional greeting of body-slamming the Vessel complete, the little visitor fluttered over to examine what the strange bug was doing. There were so many flowers! They were all the same boring color, but there were so many! The gray bug squeaked in excitement and was just about to dive into one of the piles when the bug that they were kind enough to grace with their presence put out a hand to stop them - the killjoy! - and directed them to... the other pile?

The Vessel watched as their visitor dove into the pile of flawed flowers with gleeful abandon and a soft _fwump._ Petals exploded into the air as they wiggled their tiny tendrils and their tiny tail, squeaking in delight. Satisfied that their guest was suitably entertained, the Vessel turned back to their sorting. Perfect, imperfect, imperfect, perfect, imperfect...

The Vessel continued on until they had quite the collection of blooms. Gathering up the imperfect blossoms, the Vessel went to deposit them in their respective pile but paused. Their pile wasn't much of a pile anymore. The excited wiggling of the little bug had spread flowers everywhere.

Dropping their armful to the side, the Vessel picked up one of the crushed flowers by its twisted stem. They wanted to try something they had seen on their way to the gardens...

The tiny bug, taking a break from playing in the pile, screeched when something was placed on their head. Bobbling their head wildly they managed to shake the object off. They peered at it and let out a tiny trill. It was a small ring of flowers! The bitty bug scrutinized their companion who had returned to their task. The little bug didn't have hands of their own - yet! - so they couldn't make a ring, but...

This time it was the Vessel's turn to jump when they felt something dropped on their head. Tilting their antlers back and forth they watched a few petals drift down to their lap where they were soon accompanied by a smug bug, flower ring once more crowning their head. The bug spun in a couple of circles before settling down with a soft churr. Closing their big black eyes they began to purr. Hesitantly, the Vessel patted them once, twice on the head and carefully reached for the flowers again, their friend a warm, vibrating weight in their lap.

Things were good.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by a resistance to angst and Florence + the Machine.
> 
> You can come yell at me on tumblr at the-chibi-devil.tumblr.com if you want.


	3. Chapter 2. It's always darkest before the dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're entering PLOT TERRITORY.
> 
> The chapter title is from "Shake It Out" by, of course, Florence + the Machine. Please let me know if you find any typos. Also, come yell at me at the-chibi-devil.tumblr.com (while the site lasts.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone. This took a while because the middle scene didn't want to be written and GRAD SCHOOL FINALS SUCK.

It wasn't the first time the Vessel woke up aching; the first few weeks of their tenure at the Queen's Gardens had been especially difficult. Nowadays, waking with pain was more unusual, but it occasionally happened when they had to contort themselves in order to reach some of the more stubborn plants.

The Vessel rose from its prone position on the wooden bench. When their siblings had shared the shed with them, all of the Vessels had slept upright and shoulder-to-shoulder, supporting each other so that no one woke from an unpleasant collision with the floor. It had been a tight fit, but no Vessel wanted to give up the closest thing they had to their combined existence in the Void, a time when there was no physical separation between siblings at all.

Presently, the Vessel slept alone.

Standing seemed a bit more difficult than usual, and the Vessel stumbled from the short drop to the floor. Keeping one hand on the steady grain of the bench, long worn smooth from the shuffling of little bodies, the Vessel limped towards where they had stowed their nail near the door the night before. Their left leg was particularly stiff and slightly non-responsive, similar to the time their tiny friend had sat on it too long.

Finally at the door, the Vessel gave an unsteady hop and grabbed the handle, pulling it down with their minuscule body weight. The door shuddered inward with a creak and stopped at the same out-of-place stone that it always did. Forcing their fingers to release, the Vessel dropped clumsily to the ground, landing on their little behind with a soft thump. Forcing themselves upright again, the Vessel grabbed their nail and, using it as a crutch, wobbled their way out the door.

It was time to go to work.

* * *

By the time the Vessel made it to the Gardens they were walking smoothly again, nail propped on their shoulder. Normally when they were sore the aches would persist for the entire day, but the Vessel wasn't going to spurn their good fortune.

In the process of retrieving their dirty and dented bucket from its place near the supply shed, the Vessel was stopped by one of the gardeners. Examining the Vessel with a critical eye, the gardener bent down closer to their eye(hole) level.

"You haven't somehow learned how to make fire, have you?"

Shaking their head no, the Vessel peered up at the gardener who sighed and raised a hand to his forehead, leaving a small smudge of dirt behind.

"I don't even know why I'm telling something like you, but keep an eye out for anything unusual. Someone said they found burned plants the other day."

Given that they had no voice, the Vessel wasn't sure how they were supposed to report anything to anyone. Besides, the only thing the Vessel knew that could make fire, besides candles, was the bug that liked to visit them, and they were only capable of making small sparks. Still, the Vessel gave the harried gardener a nod before vanishing into the nearest thicket.

No one found any burned brush that day.

* * *

If anything, the Vessel felt worse the next morning. A mix of vertigo and sore joints made movement difficult, and they barely made it to the Gardens on time. Unlike the day before, the pain didn't go away until the late morning. They had barely restrained a wince when their friend greeted them with a customary divebomb, and they stood there holding their mask for a few seconds afterwards. Thankfully, the little gray bug was too busy flying in excited, wobbly circles to notice their friend's discomfort.

The following day wasn't better, either. If anything, things seemed to be getting worse, with a throbbing headache added to the vertigo and further stiffness to add to the sore joints. Although the gardeners hadn't noticed that anything was wrong, the small bug certainly had and had ceased their shenanigans - unless a particularly exciting bush appeared - in favor of hovering by their friend's head and cheeping in what the Vessel could only assume was meant to be a chiding manner.

As things were, it was only a matter of time before the lasting discomfort began to have a noticeable effect on the Vessel's work. Brambles and vines were being corralled slower than usual, and some particularly out-of-the-way sections weren't getting done at all. The small gray bug had tried to help, but it lacked hands to hold the nail, and its sparks did more harm than good (the Vessel was disappointed, but not surprised, to discover that the burn marks on the plants actually were coming from their visitor. The little bug was very proud that their fire was getting stronger.)

It was on the fifth day of pain that, as the Vessel worked diligently in a vain effort to catch up on their tasks, their left leg locked up for a moment and they fell, gashing their hand open on a thorn in a desperate attempt to catch themselves.

The little gray bug panicked. With a screech they dove to just above the ground (they would have landed _if they had legs_ ) and fluttered frantically around the Vessel's injured hand. With a frustrated whine, the bug realized there was nothing they could do (curse their lack of limbs!) What did bigger bugs do in this kind of situation?

When their little friend zipped off, the Vessel figured that they probably weren't a fan of the Void leaking everywhere. That was fair, the Vessel didn't like it either.

* * *

 

The gardeners also weren't happy about it.

"You're already behind on your work," one of them complained as they poured some Soul onto the wound. The Vessel watched the cut close with a fizzing pop, the pain vanishing as if it had never been. "This is the last thing that we need."

"We can always make it work longer hours," one of the other gardeners, who wasn't actually supposed to be on break, said. "It can just sleep in the tool shed or something when it's done."

The first gardener looked contemplative. "That's true. It's getting pretty old, too. We might as well get as much use out of it as we can before it breaks." She shooed the Vessel back off towards the brambles. It stumbled but was agreeable enough.

The second gardener jumped up, eye stalks wiggling. Any excuse not to work was a good excuse. "I'll go clear it with the head gardener, then," they said and walked off. Leisurely, of course.

* * *

It was late when the Vessel's limbs locked up and they collapsed. Alone in the gardens, there was no one to help them, not that anyone would. This is just what happened to Vessels, after all. They wore out.

The Vessel had known what was happening of course; they had known since the second day of locked joints. They just didn't want to admit it.

They'd seen it happen to their siblings, watched as their movements got slower and jerkier, as every motion caused them pain until they finally just stopped moving altogether. It was a painful and brutal way to die, the Void that made up the Vessels' bodies pressing out against their shells until they cracked, leaving behind only black ichor and a broken mask.

"This is but another thing that separates the Prince from the rest of its kind," the Pale King proclaimed when the first group of Vessel laborers broke open like lifeseed cocoons slashed with a nail. "The Prince grows and the rest do not."

But that knowledge was not shared with the Vessels. They only knew that they hurt before they knew no more and returned to the Void from which they came.

The Vessel in the Gardens only knew that everything was suddenly too small and too tight, that it felt like nails were being jabbed under their shell, and that they didn't want to die. _Oh wyrm, they didn't want to die._

It felt like their shell was being pried open from the inside out, and the Vessel would have flailed, would have seized, would have _screamed_ if they could. But they could only lie there in silent agony, viscous Void leaking from their sockets and beneath their mask.

They missed their siblings. It had been hard to watch them suffer, to watch as their numbers thinned, but at least the Vessel had been able to comfort them in their last moments. Now, the Vessel was the last of their bunch and they were alone. They were alone and it hurt. _It hurt it hurt it hurt ithurtithurtithurt._

It was a cruel twist of fate that just before death, the Vessel's senses stopped working except for the sense of touch. While this meant that a friendly touch could be a huge comfort, one that most of the Vessel's closest siblings had had, it also meant that the suffering Vessel could focus on nothing but the pain. They could not hear an out-of-place gust of wind. They could not hear the soft sound of a cape sweeping against the grass. They could not hear the gravelly voice that hummed contemplatively as red eyes scanned the Vessel's still form.

"Well, this simply won't do, will it? Not when you've been so kind to my child."

The last thing that the Vessel felt before they finally, mercifully, blacked out was, oddly enough, warmth.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was getting all of these comments about how Grimmchild was going to get caught - and that was originally going to happen with Grimmchild then being locked out of the Garden - but I couldn't think of a good way to do it and then I thought, "Wouldn't it be funny if he didn't get caught?"
> 
> Yep. The gardeners are not great at detecting intruders. This may or may not come back to bite them in the butt later; I haven't decided yet.


	4. Chapter 3. And in the spring I shed my skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the Greatest Show on Earth. Additionally, Grimm sometimes sounds a bit like a creeper, and Grimmchild continues to be a buffoon, more at 11.
> 
> The chapter title is from Florence + the Machine's song "Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up)."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who is supposed to be writing a final paper? Me! On that note, please let me know if you spot any mistakes, so I can procrastinate further.

The Vessel wasn't sure what surprised them more; that when they woke up everything around them was red, an unusual color in Hallownest, or that they woke up at all.

"Mrm. You're awake."

Turning their head was an effort, but the Vessel was rewarded with the sight of a bulky, masked bug sitting on a stool and illuminated by candlelight. Given how low the candle was burning, he had been sitting there for a while; that sheer familiarity was probably how he had known that the Vessel was awake, given that they had no eyelids to open. He wasn't the tallest bug that the Vessel had ever seen, but the mask combined with his bulk and the Vessel's strange surroundings painted an intimidating picture. "Mrm." The bug made that humming noise again, startling the Vessel who would have jolted if they had the strength. "I will fetch the Master."

Master? The Vessel could hear the capital letters. The only master that the Vessel had heard of was some bug that worked in the Soul Sanctum, but the Vessel doubted that this strange, masked figure owed any allegiance to him. Had this mysterious Master saved the Vessel? How? And why?

The Vessel didn't know how long they spent starting at the rich red ceiling, anxiety mounting, before their thoughts were interrupted by a familiar shriek. Instinctively bracing themself the best that they could in their prone position, the Vessel was startled and somewhat relieved when two clawed hands halted the smaller bug's dive in its tracks.

"No, child. Your friend is still recovering. You must restrain yourself lest you cause them further harm."

Child? Was this new bug, tall and thin with piercing red eyes, the parent of their friend? And... was that their friend? The gray bug enfolded in the stranger's cape was larger than the tiny bug that the Vessel had come to know. Their bottom two tendrils had grown to match the upper two, the chubby body had elongated, and the single spike at the top of their head had split into two. The Vessel could definitely see the resemblance between the two bugs near the side of the bed.

"Weh" said the gray bug, struggling their way out of their parent's arms and fluttering to the Vessel's side where they landed and, surprisingly gently, butted their face against the Vessel's mask.

"You had them quite worried."

The Vessel transferred their gaze to the intimidating bug who had taken a seat on the stool that the masked bug had been sitting on, legs crossed and leaning disconcertingly close. "I was quite surprised when they flew in here screaming their lungs out. Why, they even grew larger simply to better assist in your care! Then again," red eyes crinkled, "that may have simply been to keep up with you."

Keep up with them? The Vessel had no clue what the bug was talking about. Why would the little bug have to keep up with them if they were bedbound?

"Ah. I see that you are confused." The tall bug stood leisurely and strolled over to a dresser on the other side of the tent, returning with a beautifully carved mirror. "Perhaps a look will clarify things, hm?" He angled the mirror so that the Vessel could see their reflection.

Their antlers were taller! And their mask wasn't quite as rounded as it had been! Raising a shaking hand to touch their reflection, the Vessel paused with it hanging in the air. Even their fingers were longer! What was this?

"It was quite a state my child found you in," the bug said, setting the mirror at the foot of the bed and taking a seat next to it, twisting to face the Vessel. "You were, quite frankly, at death's door, my little friend. Thankfully, it was a rather simple fix." He raised a clawed hand to gesture at nothing. "A dip in one of those lovely Hot Springs, and your _fascinating_ body took care of the rest. Why, I had never seen a creature fashioned from Void before arriving in this kingdom!"

The Vessel's mind was reeling. They had grown? They were wearing out because they, what, didn't have the Soul to support the growth process? Wasn't it only the Hollow Knight, their esteemed sibling, that had the capacity to age?

The bug was frowning at them now, red eyes slightly narrowed. "You had no idea, did you, small one?" he shook his head. "But I have been remiss in my manners. I," he stood with a flourish, spreading his cape to reveal a red carapace, "am Grimm, the leader of this troupe. My child, with whom you have become so well acquainted, is the Grimmchild." The smaller bug, now with their entire side pressed to the Vessel's mask, mewled as their father motioned towards them. Grimm bowed towards the Vessel. "Well met, my friend, well met."

The Vessel attempted to incline their head, a difficult task when one was exhausted and had a bug stuck to their face. Grimm laughed, straightening with the same aplomb that he seemed to do everything else. "There is no need to bow when you are in such a state, child, though your manners are impeccable. I see you are flagging."

They were, indeed. Although the Vessel's apprehension had kept them awake, now that it seemed the strange bug in charge meant them no harm, and now that their friend was a warm, comforting presence cuddled close to them, they were struggling to stay focused. The bed was so soft, and the flickering candles were casting such pretty shadows...

* * *

"Nyaa!"

The next time that the Vessel woke, it was to the Grimmchild draped across their mask.

"Mrm, child, please." Apparently, the masked bug had returned and was now playing babysitter. "You have been here all day, and the Master will be displeased if you don't get a bath."

Grimmchild squealed and started scrabbling their way across the Vessel's mask. Ah, so the Vessel wasn't the focus of the Grimmchild's attention at the moment, but a mere casualty of the child's disdain for bath time.

There was a gust of hot air and Grimmchild was lifted from the Vessel's mask with a startled whine. Troupe Master Grimm held them with gentle hands and peered curiously down at the Vessel. He sighed.

" _Really,_ child, you woke your friend _and_ dirtied their face." How Grimm knew the Vessel had awoken when they hadn't moved they didn't know, but when they touched their mask, their fingers did indeed come away with dirt. Grimmchild wrapped their tendrils around their face with another little whine. Oops.

Grimm sighed again. "Bath time for you as well, then." The Vessel was amazed to see his cape come alive and twist into tendrils, one of which scooped them up and plopped them down on the troupe master's shoulder. Grimmchild squeaked and scampered over to join their friend, even as their father strode out of the tent.

"Master! You can't just lift bugs without warning..." the masked bug grumbled, following a few steps behind the small group as they swept through camp, the Vessel gazing back at him with apparent bewilderment. Grimm raised an arm, jostling his passengers.

"Really, Brumm, I don't know what you mean. I carry my child all the time."

"Yes, Master, but that's your _child,_ " the masked bug, Brumm apparently, stressed. Grimm took a sharp turn and swept through another flap of fabric, letting it fall back onto Brumm's masked face.

The Vessel was buffeted with a gust of warm, humid air and craned their head around to look. The Grimm Troupe had, somehow, secured a Hot Spring. Grimmchild, remembering what had started this whole event, attempted to flee, but Grimm simply snagged him out of the air with another cape tendril and, without further fanfare, dumped both his child and the Vessel into the Spring. Grimmchild, somewhat resigned to their sad, wet fate, vanished under the surface with a blub.

The Vessel had never been in a Hot Spring (while conscious) before. Much to their amazement they found they immediately had more energy. And, they were floating. Gazing at their reflection in the Soul-infused water, they were struck again by the fact that they had grown. Not by much, but by enough for there to be a marked difference. They could now also see where the Grimmchild had tracked dirt across their mask and set to rectifying that fact with a vengeance.

Grimm laughed from the other side of the Spring where he was scrubbing a whining Grimmchild. "Not so rough, small one! You only just completed your first molt and don't need to lose any more layers."

First? _First?_ This was going to happen again? They were going to grow even taller? The Vessel wasn't sure whether to be excited or appalled. They settled for rattled. Grimm stopped scrubbing Grimmchild who took the opportunity to splash their parent.

"What is it, my friend? You look as if you've seen a ghost."

The Vessel waved their arms in the air, spraying droplets as they struggled to express their thoughts. They held a hand just above the main point of their mask and then motioned in a wide arm over their head.

"Hm... How tall will you grow?"

The Vessel nodded, letting their arms fall with a splash.

Grimm cocked his head, absentmindedly scrubbing his child again. "Well, due to the, shall we say, _unfortunate_ start to the whole affair, you will likely never be as tall as you might have been. Other than that, we shall simply have to wait and see."

Grimmchild splashed again, spraying water straight into Grimm's face.

"I suppose we should hurry, startled little ghost, for if we remain here any longer, I will be, " there was another splash and Grimm sighed, "covered in more water than the both of you combined." He lifted Grimmchild out of the Spring who, now that they were spared the indignity of being washed, was resistant to the new indignity of being dried.

When that arduous task was finished, Grimm turned to the Vessel who was still floating in the Spring. They pointed at themself with a little hand. "Yes? Do you need help getting out?" The Vessel shook their head and pointed at where Grimm had been and then back at themself. They then mimed dying for good measure.

"Hm?" Grimm cocked his head as Grimmchild fluttered over to the Vessel. "Startled little ghost?"

The Vessel nodded furiously and pointed at their mask again. Grimm gave a bemused smile. "If that is what you wish to be called."

The Vessel, Ghost, jumped in excitement. They had never had a name before! Grimmchild, excited over their friend's excitement, spun in a few circles and, not watching where they were going, smacked straight into a tent pole and fell into the water with a splash, surfacing with a squeak and turning sad eyes to their father.

Grimm sighed and brought a clawed hand to his face. "Child..."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally; it only took 4 chapters, but I can stop typing "the Vessel" 70 times a chapter.
> 
> Also, I have a headcanon inspired by a tumblr post that Vessels have a tendency to just sort of accept the first thing that someone calls them as their name.
> 
> Come yell at me on tumblr (while the site lasts) at the-chibi-devil.tumblr.com.


	5. Interlude - I was disappearing in plain sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Behold, I bring you other perspectives.
> 
> The chapter title is from Florence + the Machine's song "No Light, No Light."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per usual, please tell me if you see any typos, and you can find me on tumblr at the-chibi-devil.tumblr.com.

The Gendered Child

There were no Vessels in Deepnest; Herrah, after receiving her beloved daughter, refused to have anything else to do with the Pale King's creations, though it was more out of a dislike of him than of them. Thus, the only times that Hornet saw the beings that could, in another life, be considered her half-siblings was when she and her mother were summoned to the White Palace for trade negotiations (wyrm forbid that the Pale King actually deign to visit Deepnest,) and when she visited the Queen's Gardens.

The Gardens were close enough to Deepnest for Herrah to be comfortable sending her beloved daughter out alone, or as alone as she ever was when she had the charm given to her by the Weavers, to explore. Besides the beautiful scenery, Hornet liked to visit simply to watch all the caretakers scramble out of her way, fearful of being touched by the taint of the dark. She also liked to surreptitiously examine the Vessel that worked in the Gardens.

Hornet had been surprised the first time that she saw the Vessel tending to the plants below her perch; it was the closest she had been to any of the beings besides the Hollow Knight. It was smaller than most bugs she had seen. At times, its dull and dented tools seemed too large for its body, but it worked fastidiously, and she was fascinated by its similarities to her.

She noticed when it was gone.

It had been a while since her last visit to the Gardens, busy as she was, but she quickly noticed that the Vessel was in none of its usual spots. At first she thought that it may have been assigned to a new section of the Gardens, but a thorough exploration revealed nothing but some singed plants and a dark stain on the ground, sloppily covered with some foliage.

It was a shame, Hornet thought with a slight pang in her chest as she gazed down at the evidence of another Vessel's demise. There would be even less reason to visit the Gardens now.

The Scholar

Quirrel's little friend was missing.

He had first met the Vessel when he was gathering some flower samples for Lady Monomon. Quirrel had nearly tripped over the poor thing, distracted as he was. It was the first time that he saw a Vessel up close, as none worked in the Archives, and he was immediately struck by how bug-like it was.

"Hello there, little one," he had said, aware that they had some limited language comprehension. "My apologies for nearly running you over like that!" The Vessel did not respond beyond a slight cock of its head, but it continued to watch him. It likely wasn't used to being spoken to beyond a quick order.

"I hope you don't mind that I'm here to remove some of these wonderful flowers. I assure you that my employer secured the permission of the White Lady herself before sending me on this expedition! I was just looking for a sample of artemisia - oh?" Upon hearing the name of the plant that he was searching for, the Vessel had pointed off to the left with its nail (what an odd choice of tool for the creature!) "Is the artemisia that way, then?" The Vessel nodded and Quirrel beamed. "Many thanks, my friend! This job will go much quicker with your help."

The artemisia had, indeed, been where the Vessel had indicated.

Quirrel ran into them a few more times over subsequent visits. It soon came to the point where the Vessel would make a beeline to him upon his arrival and stare at him until he told it what plant he was looking for that day. The pair of them had once spent an entire afternoon searching for a particularly rare flower, but had been unable to find it. Quirrel had been quite disappointed when he left for the night, but was pleasantly surprised when he returned the following day only for the Vessel to present him with the very flower he had been searching for!

It may be naive with what he knew of Vessels, but Quirrel hoped that the little creature was alright.

The Wyrm

The Pale King did not, as a rule, pay much attention to the Vessels within His kingdom. They had merely been a backup plan in case His efforts to banish the Radiance had failed, and even then He had needed only one. It was only when He had His perfect Vessel secured and the Old Light was defeated without its assistance that He turned His attention to the rest of them, and even then He washed His hands of them quickly enough.

There had, however, been one Vessel besides the Hollow Knight that caught His attention. As the perfect Vessel stood between Him and the Abyss, the Pale King had seen, struggling up the cliff face, another Vessel. It had been uncannily similar in appearance to the young Vessel that had already stood before Him and He had considered, for a mere moment, that perhaps there could be _two_ , an heir and a spare if you will. But, in the end, that Vessel had fallen like the many before it, and He had cast it from His mind. There was no use dwelling on failures, too weak to rise and born too early to serve Hallownest's populace.

He did not think of that Vessel again for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This interlude was one of the first things that I plotted out once I decided that this story was going to be written.


	6. Chapter 4. And it blows away with the changing winds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We return to our protagonists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get this chapter out before tomorrow because I'll be at an anime convention this weekend and I don't know if I'll write when I get home. As usual, I have no beta so please let me know if you see any mistakes. Also as usual, you can find me at the-chibi-devil.tumblr.com.
> 
> See you on the flip side!
> 
> The chapter title is from Florence + the Machine's song "Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up.)"

Behind the scenes, the Grimm Troupe was a bustling hive of activity. Grimmkin floated from place to place, carrying lanterns, props, bolts of fabric, paint, anything and everything needed to run a show. This was all hidden from the crowd, of course, who saw only what the performers wanted them to see: a seamless, glorious and mysterious spectacle.

Ghost had come to like the constant frenzy in the small amount of time that they had spent with the troupe, but it was the quiet moments in the twilight of a show that they treasured most. Grimm, flush from a successful production, would sweep into the tent and regale Ghost with stories of the night's events, complete with Grimmchild pantomiming and producing sound effects. Sometimes, Grimm would burst into a spontaneous dance, grabbing Grimmchild and sailing around the room in a flourish of red and black. Thus, when Grimm entered the tent and merely stood in the doorway with a ponderous expression, Ghost was quick to react to the change.

Sliding off the bed, Ghost cautiously approached the troupe master, tugging at his cloak when a few slow minutes ticked by without acknowledgement. Grimm hummed in his low, gravelly voice.

"Yes, small one? Are you perhaps curious about my child's whereabouts?"

Now that he brought it up, yes, Ghost was wondering about that, but they shook their head and pointed imploringly at Grimm's face.

"Me? Oh, it's nothing to concern yourself with, child. It is merely that our time in this," he paused, "alluring land is quickly coming to an end, and I must prepare for our imminent departure."

Departure? It would be a lie to say that Ghost had never thought about the Grimm Troupe leaving, but it had always been as an abstract thought, the idea of 'Oh, they'll leave someday.' Suddenly the event was much more real.

Ghost supposed that they shouldn't be surprised; the Troupe was a den of performers, and no matter how good a show was, it would become stale if performed for the same populace everyday. Besides, it wasn't as if this was the first time that Ghost would be left behind. They had been left behind in the Abyss, they had been left behind by their siblings, and now they would be left behind by the Grimm Troupe.

Perhaps they could return to the Gardens? They were bigger now and wouldn't be able to fit into some of the smaller spaces, but at least the gardeners wouldn't have to train a new Vessel or hire.

How long had they been away from the Gardens, anyway? Ghost knew that they had been unconscious when Grimm had brought them into the camp, but they didn't actually know how long they had slept. Now that they thought about it, Ghost wasn't sure how long they had been awake either. Time with the Grimm Troupe was nebulous, especially when one was bedridden.

It was then that Grimmchild came careening into the tent where they immediately headbutted Ghost who accepted the greeting with grace. A harried Brumm entered the tent soon after.

"My apologies, Master. The child got away from me again. Mrm."

Grimm laughed, a hand coming up to support his child as they fluttered up to his face for a nuzzle. "Of course, Brumm, they are quite the escape artist. A possible act for the future, yes?"

Brumm grumbled.

Grimm turned to Ghost, red eyes squinted in pleasure. "My apologies for my abrupt departure tonight. There is much yet to be done. Goodnight, Ghost."

With a twirl, the troupe master and his child disappeared in a flash of flame. Brumm hurried out of the tent, presumably to meet them at their destination.

Ghost stood alone in the tent.

* * *

Ghost did not sleep that night, instead staring at the rich red fabric above them, dyed dark by the late hour. If this were to be their last night with the Troupe, then they wanted to savor every moment of comfort and warmth. They wanted to imprint every facet of this experience into their memory.

Pushing the silky covers of their borrowed bed back, Ghost sat up. There was no point staying in bed, they decided. As Grimm had said, there was much yet to do.

The empty alleys between the tents were an unsettling sight when compared to the bustling activity that Ghost was used to. They hurried over the hard-packed ground, unsure where they were going, the night silent except for the soft refrain of... what _was_ that?

Curiosity piqued, Ghost followed the whisper of sound to the edge of the camp, stopping only to gaze at a hamlet situated a short distance away, so different from the curated wild of the Queen's Gardens or the small shed they had lived in for most of their life.

They would have plenty of time to explore the town after the Troupe had left.

The source of the sound was, to Ghost's surprise, Brumm, seated on the fractured remnants of an unknown structure. He stopped what he was doing upon spotting Ghost, their mask a pale beacon in their dark surroundings.

"Mrm? Child? What are you doing out of bed?"

Ghost started and looked around. Had Grimmchild followed them out here? But there was no one around except for Ghost and Brumm.

Brumm hummed and beckoned for Ghost to approach.

Carefully, hesitantly, Ghost picked their way forward and clambered up the ruin until they were side by side with Brumm, staring at the craggy cliffs in the distance, taller than anything that Ghost had ever seen. Brumm resumed pulsing his instrument, reigniting the quiet melody.

"It's called an accordion. Mrm. I've had it for as long as I can remember."

Ghost craned their neck to peer at the accordion. it was a bit odd to watch Brumm play what, upon closer inspection, appeared to be the corpse of an unknown species of bug, but it made a beautiful sound. The two of them sat like that for a while longer, Brumm playing while Ghost listened and watched intently. Finally, Ghost turned their empty gaze from the accordion back to the cliffs.

"The locals call them the Howling Cliffs. They're the most direct way in and out of this kingdom."

Beyond the kingdom. Ghost had never considered it. The rocky bluff did not look very inviting.

"Mrm. We should be packed by tomorrow, but getting everything over the cliffs will be a challenge."

Ghost wilted. The Troupe would be leaving that soon?

Brumm hummed. "Invisible chains bind us to our homelands. Are you nervous about leaving yours?"

There was no way for Brumm to know that Ghost, that all Vessels, had already left their homeland, dragged kicking and screaming into the light, so Ghost regarded Brumm blankly. Brumm turned his attention from his accordion to gaze back. He slowed his playing. Stopped.

When he spoke again, he spoke slowly. "The Master did not tell you of our plans, did he?"

Ghost shook his head. Brumm sighed, mask tilting forward.

"Mrm. Wait here."

He placed his instrument on Ghost's lap. Ghost froze, hands hovering uncertainly. Meanwhile, Brumm climbed down the ruin - he had a much easier time getting down than Ghost had getting up - and vanished into the throng of tents. He returned minutes later, followed by Grimm whose red eyes blinked tiredly. Ghost sunk down as best they could while holding the accordion.

Yawning, Grimm peered up at Ghost who peered back down. "Child? What are you doing out here so late? There are many dangers afoot in a kingdom such as this."

Ghost shrank down further. For all their faults, the Gardens and the Vessel sheds had always been safe. They had not considered the potential dangers of an unknown area.

Brumm cleared his throat. "Master, Ghost seems confused about our travel plans."

Ghost's head snap towards Brumm. They hadn't known that Brumm knew their name, as he had not been present when it had been decided.

Grimm tilted his head. "Whatever do you mean? We will pack up the tents, the Grimmsteeds and Grimmkin will transport the wagons and supplies over the Cliffs, and we shall depart."

Brumm huffed, climbing the ruin in order to take his instrument back from Ghost. "Mrm. Master, maybe you should elaborate on who will be going?"

"Everyone, of course! Why do you ask, Brumm? Is there someone in the Village that caught your eye?"

" _Master!"_

 _Tap tap tap._ Brumm and Grimm looked up at Ghost who ceased banging the rock once they had their attention. They gestured first at themself and then at the distant town. Grimm's eyes widened.

"Did you wish to stay in the village, little one?"

Ghost shrugged. Who knew if the village would need a Vessel? They could be turned over to the King for reassignment for all they knew.

"You are, of course, free to remain here if that is your will."

Brumm hit a discordant note in his playing.

Grimm shot him a look but continued speaking. "My child will miss you, but if we assure them that this is where your happiness lies, the pain of separation will be minimal. I must ask, however," he disappeared in a flash of flame and reappeared directly in front of Ghost, bowed low so that they were eye to socket, "are you sure that this is your wish? If you follow this course of action, the likelihood of us meeting again on this plane is very, very slim."

Ghost began to shake; if they could cry there would certainly be tears dripping down their cheeks. They didn't want that. They didn't want that at all! Grimmchild was their only friend, and the Grimm Troupe was the first place that they had felt warmth, that they felt welcome since the rest of their cohort died. Grimm's expression softened and he reached forward, lifting Ghost so that their head rested on his shoulder.

"Dear child, did you fear that you were not welcome? This troupe could only be a better place with you in it." Ghost continued to sob silently into Grimm's shoulder, but now it was from relief. They didn't have to leave; they didn't have to go back to sharp orders and lonely nights; they could stay with these strange, intimidating, _kind_ bugs.

The two of them stayed there, perched on the ruins of an old kingdom, until Ghost's body stilled and they sank into exhausted slumber.

Unnoticed, Brumm changed his tune to a carefree melody.

  **End of Act 1 - Garden Arc  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This marks the end of the first arc, the Garden Arc. Next up is the Grimm Troupe Arc which will, eventually, be followed by the Hallownest Arc. The Grimm Troupe Arc will contains lots of shenanigans and all of you wonderful readers will get to learn the answers to some of your questions. Is the Grimm Troupe supernatural? Why is the Grimmchild's growth different from the game? What is up with Ghost growing? How do both Grimm and the Grimmchild exist? What happened to the Radiance? Stay tuned to find out...


	7. Chapter 5. And then it tries to find a home with people

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Grimm Troupe leaves Hallownest and begins their journey to the next destination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Void-Dreamers drew some wonderful art of the final scene of this chapter! Check it out here! https://void-dreamers.tumblr.com/post/185100015000/this-fic-is-really-cute-so-far-and-i-really-liked
> 
> And so begins the Grimm Troupe Arc. This arc - which will be largely the adventures of the Grimm Troupe and Ghost along with interspersed plot - was going to be the entire story before it grew a plot. 
> 
> The chapter title is from Florence + the Machine's song "Hunger."
> 
> Please let me know if you find any typos.

The Grimm Troupe left not at night, for Hallownest had none, but when the local populace was asleep. With a practiced ease, they stowed and loaded their gear, snuffed the lanterns, and disappeared into the gloom. No one saw them arrive and no one saw them leave, and they left so little behind that some believed they were never there at all.

Ghost sat at the front of the lead wagon with Grimm and Grimmchild. As the Troupe's leader, it was Grimm's responsibility to determine the caravan's next destination. With no pressing need to be anywhere, he had selected a kingdom about two week's travel to the north. While there would be villages and small to mid-size towns on the way, there would be no royalty, nobility, or platoons of guards like Ghost was used to. Everything would be a new experience for the Vessel whose world had been so small. Thus, Grimm was keeping a close eye on them; the last thing he needed was for the little one to wander off. Thankfully, they were content with watching the scenery pass by for the moment. Grimmchild, used to the Troupe's usual form of travel, was taking a nap in their father's lap.

Ghost's first view of the world outside Hallownest was the Howling Cliffs; a rugged, unforgiving landscape filled with ways to injure the unwary. Yet the Grimmsteeds were sure-footed and well accustomed to dangerous terrain. They pressed on with silent aplomb, leaving Ghost with no reason to fear for their safety. Thus, Ghost was able to take in the beauty of the world around them; how the rugged ground had been worn almost smooth by the tread of feet and the roll of wheels over an indeterminate amount of time; how the mist turned everything it touched soft and hazy; and how the wind whistled a haunting tune to accompany the grind of wheels over stone. Everything was stark and new and beautiful. If Grimm were privy to their thoughts he would have said that Ghost had a touch of poetry in them, but Ghost was left to contently contemplate the world around them, little feet drumming against the wagon to the beat of a non-existent heart.

* * *

The caravan stopped for the night in an open plain, far from jagged rocks and carefully curated gardens. Grimmchild immediately zipped off to greet some of the Grimmkin as they went about the business of lighting lanterns and creating a central fire.

The composition of the Grimm Troupe was constantly changing. While currently at a high point it would soon shrink again as performers left out of a desire to settle down, due to exhaustion borne out of constant travel, or a growing disillusionment with the uncanny nature of the Troupe itself. Few were the loyal Troupe members that Grimm let into his confidence. If a summoning lantern was struck, then the disloyal or uncaring would, for whatever reason, suddenly find themselves with a desire to leave the Troupe, all memories of the Troupe's eccentricity slipping from their minds like water through a sieve.

Ghost didn't know this, of course. They were new to the Troupe and - while aware of some of its more unusual features - didn't necessarily see them as strange given their own unusual makeup, and so didn't worry about them. What they _did_ worry about was the large amount of bugs that Grimm wanted to introduce them to.

They had already met Brumm who was the unspoken second-in-command of the Troupe and was fully aware of most of its secrets, but there was also Adaira the cook, Needle the tailor - who Grimm assured Ghost they would visit later to acquire a cape for them that better fit with the Troupe's aesthetics than the tattered gray one they had now - Noita who built the props, and Divine.

Divine was a mystery to Ghost: she was large and intimidating, and she wore the strangest mask that Ghost had seen yet. Grimm had told them that Divine provided the Troupe with "a bit of extra security," but they had no idea what that meant.

And she was a bit much for Ghost.

"Aaaaaaaahhhh!" she'd cried when Grimm brought them into her tent, "What is this? What is this? Another little lovely? Another little lovely to join the Troupe?" She had scooped Ghost up and dangled them in front of her. "So small! So precious!"

Grimm had chuckled while Ghost flailed at their undignified position. "Divine, the little one that you are holding is Ghost of Hallownest. My child befriended them at our last destination."

Divine had squealed and pulled Ghost close to her chest. "Aaaaah, perfect! A friend for the young Master. Two little lovelies running around. A wonderful surprise!"

Ghost wriggled helplessly.

That encounter had been a few hours ago and Ghost - now in a lovely red cloak with a black lining that blended into their body - was resting by the fire as Troupe members chattered and laughed around them. Grimm had disappeared to put a tired Grimmchild to bed and Brumm was nowhere to be seen, likely off practicing his accordion.

Ghost had just begun to nod off when Divine made her reappearance.

"There you are, little lovely!" she crowed, swooping down with speed that belied her size. Ghost startled, leaning away from Divine's face so close to their own. Her visible eye was sparkling, her smile was wide, and she was holding something behind her back.

Ghost inched away.

"Aaaaaaahhhh, so cruel!"

Divine pulled Ghost back towards her, steadying them with one claw when they almost toppled over. "If the little lovely is to join the Troupe, they must look the part! The cloak is a good start. A good start but not enough!" She whipped her other arm out from behind her revealing... a pot of ink complete with brush and a portable mirror?

Divine wrapped her tail around herself and settled onto the ground. Clearly, she was planning to stay for a while. "It's a shame that we can't make a mask for you. A shame! But no mask will fit over your horns."

She was right, Ghost realized. For a mask to fit them it would have to be modeled to go over their entire head,, a ridiculous prospect. She was also right that all members of the Troupe, excluding Grimm and Grimmchild who had the patterns on their faces, wore a mask. Ghost would stick out like a sore thumb! They drooped.

"Aw, cheer up, little lovely." Divine patted them gently on the head and popped the ink bottle open. "We have the next best thing! Watch, watch." With a surprisingly delicate grip given that her arms ended in claws, Divine dipped the brush in the ink before lifting it to her face and drawing a black line straight down beneath her unmasked eye.

"See? See? We'll have to buy a longer-lasting ink for you, but this will work for now. You'll have to wash it off before sleeping, but you will fit right in." She propped the mirror on her tail and positioned it so that Ghost could see their own reflection. "Now you try."

Ghost was very careful, but it still took a few tries before they were able to draw as straight a line as Divine. Luckily, their mask was smooth, and dollops of ink would trail down the surface giving them a guide to follow. That _did_ result in inky sockets, though. Divine cooed in sympathy.

"When we get better ink, we can do the area around your eyes too." Divine gestured at the eye painted onto her mask. "But look at you! You look just like Master! Look, Master, look!"

Startled, Ghost glanced over their shoulder where, sure enough, Grimm was standing with a smirk.

...How long had he been there? Embarrassed, Ghost went to hide their mask in their hands, but stopped when they remembered the wet ink. Chuckling, Grimm pulled a black handkerchief from under his cloak and gently wiped the ink away, taking great care to clear Ghost's sockets. "Why, you looked just like my kin! We must, indeed, get you some better ink at the next town. It won't do to have you use up all the cartography supplies."

Divine pursed her lips and stoppered the bottle.

"There now," Grimm said, straightening and offering a hand up to Ghost. "It has been a long day and tomorrow will be another; let us get you to bed. Thank you, Divine, for your thoughtfulness with the child."

Divine waved them off with a sharp-toothed grin. "Of course, Master, of course! Sleep well, Master! Sleep well, little lovely!"

She was a lot, Ghost thought as Grimm led them away, but Divine wasn't so scary after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Divine may or may not eat bugs that get too close to finding out the Troupe's secrets. Also, how the heck does she do anything with those claws? And why is her speech so hard to write?


	8. Chapter 6. I can hear this beat it fills my head up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghost has never played an instrument before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this chapter took a while, huh? There are a few reasons for that! The main one is that I started my summer job which is full-time, so I have a lot less time to write. The other reason is that this chapter just wouldn't flow! This entire chapter was supposed to be a completely different scene, but when I couldn't figure anything out after a few different drafts, I figured that maybe this isn't the right place in the story for that scene.
> 
> Thanks for waiting and thanks for reading!  
> The chapter title is from "Drumming Song" by Florence + the Machine.

As part of the Grimm Troupe, Ghost encountered many objects that were new to them, but they found few as fascinating as the instruments. In addition to Brumm's accordion, Ghost had encountered wooden instruments with slick strings called violins and violas, a large black and white instrument stowed carefully in the back of one of the wagons called a piano, a black stick with holes that the performer called a clarinet, and a _different_ holed stick called a flute. Every instrument made a different sound and they were all beautiful.

But no instrument was quite right for Ghost.

They were too small to play the string instruments, as the ones that the Troupe had were specifically sized for their performers. Additionally, those performers were wary of handing their livelihoods off to a beginner.

The piano was in no shape to be played, Grimm said. It had belonged to a former Troupe member who was unable to take it with them upon their departure, and it was now drastically out of tune. If the Troupe could find someone to fix it then, perhaps, Ghost could play it, but unpacking such a large instrument when it was broken was more trouble that it was worth.

That left the woodwind instruments, but Ghost had no mouth nor lips with which to play them. Despondent, they sat on the edge of one of the wagons, away from the crackle of the fire and the laughter of the Troupe, kicking their feet against the wood with soft thumps, the catch of the grain against their shell a familiar comfort.

"Mrm. You seem deep in thought."

Grimmchild had been party to Ghost's musical adventures. They had watched as their friend drooped more and more as they were gently turned away from instrument after instrument. While Grimmchild had no desire to learn an instrument - once again, they had no arms or legs and therefore couldn't play one - Ghost certainly did and Grimmchild was determined to assist them in their endeavor. Thus, for Ghost's sake, they had sought out the best musician that they knew.

Unfortunately, neither Grimmchild nor Ghost could tell Brumm what they wanted. How did one communicate that they wanted to play an instrument when they had never done so?

Not very well as it turns out.

Brumm watched in bemusement as Ghost waved their arms and wiggled their fingers. Grimmchild was no help in getting their point across, zipping in circles and screeching in what they presumably thought was a musical manner.

Then Ghost had an idea. They positioned their arms about a foot apart and angled their hands inwards, mimicking what they could remember from days ago when Brumm had played his accordion for them shortly before the Troupe left Hallownest. They pushed their arms towards each other and then drew them out again.

"Mrm. My accordion?"

Ghost nodded vigorously, stopping only when Grimmchild landed on their head, satisfied that they had made their point.

"You want to hear a song?"

Ghost and Grimmchild shook their heads in an amusing parallel given that one was literally on top of the other. Brumm folded his arms and hummed.

"Did you want to see it again?"

Ghost rocked one hand back-and-forth in a so-so motion before they mimed playing the accordion again.

"You want to... play it?"

Ghost nodded again, nearly dislodging Grimmchild who wrapped their tendrils around Ghost's antlers in order to keep their place.

"Mrm... I'm afraid that's not possible. The accordion is sized for an adult bug."

Hopes dashed, Ghost drooped again. Grimmchild let out an angry chitter.

"But I do have something you can try. Mrm. Follow me."

Ghost perked up and jumped a bit in excitement. Grimmchild squeaked and left Ghost's head to flutter over to Brumm. They patted his mask with a tendril. Yes, good musician. Truly, Brumm was the only one around here who got anything done.

* * *

 

Brumm's tent was smaller than Grimm's and much less extravagant. While all of Grimm's furniture was made to last, it was also designed to impress and was made of strong, matte metals and ornately carved wood. Contrary to his master, Brumm's furniture was simple and lightweight, easy to travel with and easy to replace. The most expensive pieces in the tent were designed to protect his instruments; while his accordion was given pride of place, the other instruments that he had in his possession were far from neglected.

The instrument that Brumm was interested in was an old one, well-worn but still functional; perfect for a beginner. As with all his belongings, Brumm knew its exact whereabouts and was able to quickly fish it out from beneath his bed as Ghost hovered in the doorway and Grimmchild fluttered around curiously, sticking their head into every nook and cranny they could find.

The item in question was a small drum with a wooden base. It had been gifted to Brumm by an impressed audience member at one of the more accepting towns the Troupe had visited.

"I've seen you kicking the side of the caravans. You have a good sense of rhythm."

Ghost wasn't quite sure what Brumm meant or what the object in front of them was, but they were intrigued. This object was small enough for them to play, but there were no keys or mouthpieces to be seen. How did it make noise?

Even after closely examining the instrument, Ghost saw no way to play it. Hesitantly, they tapped the strange covering on the top and jumped a little when it made a _toom_ noise. They did it again, tapping another area of the instrument. it made a slightly different noise. Using both hands at once they patted the top of the instrument in quick succession. _Tap tap tap tap tap - toom toom toom toom toom._

"Mrm," Brumm said over the din. "It's called a drum. There are different types. You can keep that one and maybe we'll find others on our travels."

Ghost stopped playing and looked down at the drum. A gift! A gift like the ink for their face and the cloak they wore! Truly, the Grimm Troupe was a wonderful place filled with wonderful bugs. Standing, Ghost mimicked something they had seen Grimm do to Grimmchild and wrapped their arms around what they could of Brumm's wide upper body, snuggling into his ruff. He made a startled noise but after a moment he patted their head and returned the embrace.

They stayed that way for a few moments, Grimmchild ignoring them in favor of wiggling under the covers of Brumm's bed.

Ghost squeezed just a little bit tighter.

...How long was a hug supposed to last anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grimm wasn't jealous that Brumm got to hug Ghost before him or anything. Nope, not at all. Also, yes, this chapter is somewhat plot relevant. There has to be some visible bonding after all!
> 
> Come talk to me at the-chibi-devil.tumblr.com.


	9. Chapter 7. That a ghost should be so practical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit to the market is in order and Ghost gets a stick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not my favorite chapter, but whatever. Same deal as usual. Let me know if you find any mistakes and feel free to talk to me on tumblr at the-chibi-devil.tumblr.com.
> 
> The title is from "Only If for a Night" by Florence + the Machine. Here's a fact: Ghost is not super practical.

There were few things that matched the sheer indignity of bath time, but if anything did it was a visit to the marketplace. Yet, it wasn't the market itself that was the target of Grimmchild's ire, but rather their father's method of control over them: the dreaded, the demeaning, the despicable... leash.

Grimmchild's leash was a length of black leather that wrapped around their belly, so Grimm could focus on shopping and resupplying his Troupe instead of worrying about his child flying away, breaking something, or otherwise getting into mischief. But to Grimmchild, anything that kept them from exploring was _the worst thing._

"Myaaaaa!"

Grimmchild flailed their tendrils from their position on the floor. They wanted to explore the market! They wanted to investigate all the nooks and crannies! They wanted to sniff out all the interesting things! They didn't want to be stuck within a two-foot radius of their father!

Woe betide anyone who told Grimmchild that these behaviors were the precise reason why their father made them wear a leash in the first place. 

* * *

The destination of the day was a bustling market in a nation known for its bustling trade. Cavern's Mouth was home to the trade depot of the queendom of Silverkeep; a shaded land located within a set of caverns and caves lit only by the light of insentient glowworms reflecting off the branching veins of silver that stippled the cavern walls. 

Bugs of all sorts visited Cavern's Gate, from the seediest members of society to the most upstanding. Guards were present, but they were focused on preventing theft and violence; they didn't care how a bug had gotten their goods before coming to Silverkeep. Thus, while there were as many fences as there were reputable establishments, it was a remarkably safe area. More importantly, no one batted an eye at bugs that would normally warrant a second or third glance. The Grimm Troupe fit right in and so it was one of their most frequent stops.

The Troupe did not stay together to shop; everyone had their own wants and needs to fulfill and no one had to stay behind with the Grimmkin guarding the caravan, so they dispersed with nothing more than a stern warning from Grimm not to cause trouble and to be back in three days _at the lates_ _t_ or risk being left behind.

Such a statement was, of course, purely for the benefit of those members who were not yet bound to the Troupe; the rest could find and reach him no matter where he was.

* * *

Grimm swept into the market with the confidence of royalty, his regal bearing only somewhat impaired by one child holding his hand and another floating sulkily next to him, the end of their leash tied securely around his wrist. With so many Troupe members, Grimm had to do less of the shopping himself. Now, what did he have to get? Some fabric for Needle to make more cloaks for Ghost, the spicy snacks that Grimmchild liked, more ink, hoops and rods to make props...

Their first stop was a grocer in order to pacify Grimmchild with some hot peppers. They were less likely to attempt escape while busy encouraging Ghost to toss peppers into their mouth, and the peppers only hit Grimm in the head a few times. (One landed in the mouth of a passerby who gave the three of them a thumbs up much to Ghost's embarrassed astonishment.)

Stop two was derailed by Ghost spotting a flower shop and shyly indicating to Grimm that they wanted to take a look. They spent a good fifteen minutes admiring the flowers and other plants before Grimmchild got impatient and nearly lit a small cactus on fire.

Stops three and four were easy enough. It was no difficulty to locate fabric or ink, though Grimmchild's preferred snacks ended up being a bit more of a problem as the vendor had moved across the marketplace, leading the three of them on a merry chase. The merchant was happy to see them though, his round face breaking out into a smile.

"Picked up another one, huh? Though I guess it's not much of a surprise with how you dote on the little 'un," he said, nodding at Grimmchild who was settled on Ghost's head, mewling happily as they snacked on a spicy treat (a small one, of course! It wouldn't do to put them off their dinner.)

"Here, little guy. For you," the owner of the stall said, handing Ghost, who took it solemnly, a spiced sausage on a surprisingly sturdy stick. Equally solemnly, they held the snack up to Grimmchild who took a single sniff and sneezed. Ghost lowered the snack back to eye-level and looked it over critically.

"Alright, children," Grimm said, deciding to hurry them along before they decided to somehow dispose of the sausage. "Say your farewells to the nice man." Grimmchild waved a tendril as Ghost calmly pulled a, somehow pristine, flower out of the socket of their mask and handed it to the speechless shopkeeper.

So, _that_ was where they'd been keeping those.

Grimmchild started flagging soon after that memorable stop, refusing to get off of Ghost's head and whining whenever one of their steps jolted them awake. Well, that was no problem. There was nothing that Grimm couldn't wait another day to get. He was just preparing to take the children home when there was a shout from the weapons stall behind them and a widely thrown blade careened past the protective wall.

Straight at Ghost and Grimmchild.

_Smack!_

Grimm had been planning to snatch the knife out of the air, but that was apparently unnecessary. Ghost stood over the downed blade, the stick they had received from the shopkeeper in two pieces on the ground.

"Oho! A mighty swing for one so young. You have talent, friend, unlike this scoundrel," a voice boomed over the murmuring crowd. A large beetle was stomping towards them with a huge grin, a nail on his back, and a queasy-looking bug dangling from one large hand.

Depositing the unfortunate bug, indeed the one responsible for this whole mess, in front of Grimm, he turned to Ghost. "Would you be interested in learning the fine art of the nail? At least while you're in town and as long as your dad says yes, that is. It would be a waste for such talent to be left to rot. A waste, I say!"

Grimm, who was busy telling the now-cowering bug all of the places that a knife could land if someone were to throw it _just so_ took a moment to look at the beetle and then down at Ghost, who was gazing up at Grimm with as much nervous anticipation as a blank face could muster.

Grimm sighed. It _would_ be good for Ghost to be able to fight; they didn't have the natural powers and protections that the Grimmkin did. He looked at the large bug whose face showed all the expression that Ghost's couldn't and more.

Red eyes gleamed. Straightening and throwing the foolish, knife-casting bug to the newly-arrived guards in a show of casual strength - the bug was simply relieved to be away from him - Grimm grinned with sharp, sharp teeth. "I would, of course, have to be present."

The large bug agreed readily enough and Grimm's smirk only grew, unsettling many around him. _"Excellent._ We will see you tomorrow then, good sir." Using his cloak, he scooped Ghost and Grimmchild into his arms and set off towards camp.

Grimmchild shot a cranky fireball at the bug being interrogated by the guards as they left.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When will we return to plot territory? Soon. Very soon.
> 
> Also, don't question where the leather and sausage comes from. It's a secret. Shhhhh.


	10. Chapter 8. I think sometimes you have to cut through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nice weapon you got there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I have no excuse for the delay on this chapter. 
> 
> For all of those who have asked, no these are not the Nailmasters from Hallownest. This timeline has been shifted around; those three are still in training and Sly is certainly not traveling with the Grimm Troupe.
> 
> Anyway, plot will _actually_ happen next time! I promise.
> 
> Come yell at me at the-chibi-devil.tumblr.com.

Orrick ran the weapons' stand. He wasn't the most polished of Nailmasters, but he was an enthusiastic tutor and took to teaching Ghost with aplomb, determined to impart all the knowledge that he could in only two days.

"Now then, little friend, the first lesson in the art of the nail is understanding that there are _a lot_ of things you might have to fight besides nails. Some enemies have claws or scythes," Orrick held up what appeared to be a bladed foreleg attached to a hilt before tossing it aside. "That one was brought to me by a bug who claimed that there was an entire race with such weapons. What marvelous warriors they must be!" Orrick laughed for a moment but trailed off at Ghost's blank look. He coughed.

"So. Some creatures will fight with their teeth or shoot acid. Others will jump, roll, or run at you. Smarter opponents might use throwing blades or lancers or," he winked an eye and leaned down toward Ghost as if he were about to impart a terrible secret, " _magic."_ Orrick leaned back to laugh again, slapping one of his crossed legs. "I have yet to meet such a bug, but I've heard tales of them from travelers hailing from many different lands! They must be both great and terrible beings."

Lounging behind Ghost, Grimm took a moment to adjust his cloak.

"And then there are the practical skills."

Orrick stood and pulled a wooden nail from behind the counter of his stall. He lifted his own nail for comparison; some of the curious bugs milling about "oohed" in appreciation.

"Nails are held differently depending on the size of the weapon, the size of the wielder, and how you're fighting. You're quite tiny now, little friend, so your grip will definitely change as you get bigger!"

Ghost thought back to their last growth spurt and shuddered.

Orrick laughed. "Oh? So you don't want to grow up to be as big and strong as me?" Ghost shook their head frantically. "You don't want to be as tall as your dad?" Ghost tilted their head. Their dad? Who did he mean? Ghost didn't have a dad. Maybe Orrick had seen someone that looked like Ghost in the marketplace? He must be confused. Ghost patted him gently on the leg. Orrick grinned, a bit confused, but let the matter go in favor of pulling Ghost to their feet and handing them the wooden nail. Ghost clutched the weapon to their chest. Whatever came next, they would be ready.

"Now, this is a basic double-handed grip..."

* * *

Ghost and Grimm arrived at camp shortly after sunset, Ghost holding tight to their new practice nail. Orrick had emphasized that the make-shift weapon wasn't actually meant for hitting bugs after Ghost had whacked him with it while copying a move. Despite its lack of sharp edges, the nail could still bruise more delicate chitin. It was better, Orrick said sagely, to swing only at what you intended to hit.

Ghost had taken a moment to process that statement and then proceeded to test their skills on pretty much everything in the stall that looked sturdy enough to take it, including but not limited to: a practice dummy, two stools, and a rock holding down the stall's tarp. Market-goers wisely gave them a wide berth.

But Orrick had praised them; he said that they had a strong drive and that their stance was already improving. Grimm also seemed pleased with their progress; he had indulgently used his cape to create a field of moving targets for Ghost to hit (much to the shock and occasional horror of some of the passerby.)

Soon, however, it would be time for the Grimm Troupe to return to their meandering path, leaving Ghost with a wooden nail and no tutor. Orrick had given them the names of some other bugs skilled in the Nail arts, as well as a letter of introduction for those Nailmasters and apprentices they met along the way. He had also secured a promise from Grimm that Ghost would swing by next time they happened to be passing through the city.

"Someone has to check the little guy's progress," he had laughed, waving the pair off. "Go on, go on. There is so much to learn through traveling! Just make sure to bring me back some stories." Ghost had nodded, determined to make their new friend proud.

"Welcome back, welcome back!" Divine crowed. Evidently, she had decided to spend the night in camp rather than rushing to meet up with the Troupe in the morning. Other members of the Troupe were also trickling back to pack their purchases away and prepare for departure. Thankfully, none of them were as energetic as Divine whose general enthusiasm was matched only by Grimmchild's.

"And what do you have there, little lovely? A mighty weapon for a might warrior? Show me, show me!" Obediently, Ghost held up their nail and Divine quickly snatched it away, holding it close to her unmasked eye. "Hmmm, yes. Good, good. But Noita, aaaah, Noita can make it better! Master, Master, let's bring it to Noita!"

Noita the prop-maker. Ghost had met her, but mostly in passing what with being bedbound and then swept away into the hustle and bustle of the journey. Beyond their quick introduction, the two had had little interaction.

"Indeed..." Grimm said in a pondering tone, placing an absent-minded hand on Ghost's head and holding the other out to cradle a newly-arrived Grimmchild. "Noita is a master of her craft. I have no doubt that she could make this weapon just the tiniest bit... sharper."

His smile was all teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, praying mantises molt! (I looked it up.) If conditions are poor, they might even lose a limb but can regrow it at the next molt.
> 
> The chapter title is from Florence + the Machine's song "Heartlines." (Why did I limit my chapter titles to Florence + the Machine lyrics?)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Adopted Vessel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20645891) by [practicalglitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/practicalglitch/pseuds/practicalglitch)




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